


Streamers

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Threesome - M/M/M, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-19 01:30:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4727666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frodo finds himself between Erebor’s welcome party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Streamers

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Frodo is invited to study under his distant cousin Bilbo in Erebor as part of his scholarly travels abroad, and Fili and Kili make a special point to make him feel right at home. In a sexy way” prompt on [the Hobbit Kink Meme](http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/8973.html?thread=19136013#t19136013).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit/The Lord of the Rings or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Erebor’s library is _wonderful_. It’s towering, with many ladders tossed this way and that, but it’s also wide and filled enough that it’ll take years for Frodo to make it through the lower shelves. The first day that Balin can’t oversee his studies, Frodo goes to the library anyway, eager for a chance to just look around and take it all in. It’s nothing like the small, stifling Shire. He loves his home and always will, but this is new and exciting, open and free, and in the midst of bustling dwarves with an eye for art and maps, Frodo can really be _himself_ the way he hasn’t been in years. 

Bilbo is a special bonus. Frodo sees him every day, but this morning he’s off with Thorin, and Frodo’s off alone. He’s not even sure what he’ll do yet—maybe just find a random picture book to flip through—search for a hint of a _dragon_ , perhaps, and he wanders down the rows upon rows of dusty volumes, trailing his hand across their spines. 

He stops when he finds one fallen over, the rest in that section gone—popular, or just unfilled. He stands the book up again and pushes it to the others, startling at the face that peeks between. From across the other side of the shelf, a smallish dwarf smiles at him, pretty and young, with long, dark hair and only thick stubble for a beard. 

He chirps, “Hello,” before Frodo can say a word, and Frodo feels his tongue going thick in his throat. He’s never been shy, and he especially likes to chat with other races, but Erebor’s already overwhelming and Frodo only really knows Balin, and this dwarf is particularly breathtaking. 

He still manages to reply, “Hello,” and then he grasps for more and his memory stirs—he can see a smattering of _Thorin_ in this dwarf’s face. “We met at my welcome dinner, didn’t we?”

“Yes. I’m Kíli; Thorin’s nephew,” the dwarf confirms.

It isn’t that Frodo spends much time looking at Thorin, but Bilbo’s around him often. It’s still strange to think of Frodo’s Bilbo so close to a _king_. His face flushes at the realization that this, too, is a dwarf of the Durin line, and Frodo mumbles, “The prince.”

With one arm up and otherwise out of sight, Kíli leans closer to the shelf. “That’s right. I was there with my brother.”

“The handsome blond?” As soon as Frodo’s said it, he wants to take it back, but it’s too late, so he just slams his mouth shut and watches the grin increase on Kíli’s pink lips. 

Kíli teases, “I’m the ugly one, am I?”

So of course Frodo has to shake his head and insist, “No, no—you’re very attractive too, I just...” He just nothing. He lifts one hand to cover his face and sighs, but Kíli laughs good-naturedly. Frodo’s always heard dwarves were hot-headed, but they seem far less prone to offense than the hobbits Frodo knows. When Frodo uncovers his face, he gives an apologetic shrug, and Kíli rolls right on.

“So, Frodo—it is Frodo, isn’t it?” When Frodo nods, Kíli glances sideways, then leans forward, asking in an almost-conspirator’s whisper, “I’m not good with hobbit years, but you’re as old now as Bilbo was when we first met, right? A full adult, and you look like one, though you’re thinner than he was. Do you like dwarves as much, I wonder?”

Frodo’s a bit older, in fact, but he doesn’t understand Dwarven years any better. He doesn’t have the heart to correct Kíli that, from the tales Bilbo’s told him, anyway, Bilbo wasn’t very happy about setting out with a pack of rowdy dwarves in the beginning. If anything, Frodo started freer than that. Still, he admits, “I haven’t really got the chance to know many yet.”

Frodo’s so preoccupied with Kíli that he doesn’t notice another dwarf’s approach until there’s a weight against his back, and he turns in surprise, looking up with the newcomer looking down. “Don’t worry,” the dwarf chuckles, “it’s just me: the handsome one.” And he winks, turning Frodo’s cheeks pink—Fíli, if he has his names right, who’s every bit as distractingly attractive as Frodo remembers, and nicely matching Kíli on top of it. When Frodo glances back through the books, the other side is empty, and in a moment Kíli comes around to his side of the bookshelf. Frodo stays to wait, only belatedly realizing that Fíli’s standing entirely too close, and he should probably move away but isn’t budging. 

Once Kíli’s close enough, Frodo has to turn around, his back now to the books, and Kíli continues asking, “Would you like to?”

Frodo doesn’t answer right away, because both dwarves are moving, sidling right up to him, so close they’re almost touching, fencing him in. He could get out if he wanted to—they’re positioned, at first, to give him that opening, and he’s had his share of unwelcome attention in the Shire that he mastered slipping away from. But the thought of leaving doesn’t even occur to him here, and instead he back against the shelf, letting the wooden ledge dig into his shoulder blades and lower back and legs. He looks from one to the other, nodding because he’s not sure of the right words. At that, they close the gap, and he bites his bottom lip, chewing it innocently between his teeth and eyeing them up and down the way they do to him—he can see the clear _hunger_ in their eyes, and he can’t stop himself from feeding into it. He’d be scorned for such wanton behaviour back home. But here, he can return their appreciative gazes, and when he quietly asks, “In the Library?” Fíli chuckles. 

“Dwarves are very open,” Fíli purrs, tone confirming everything Frodo guessed. Fíli reaches out, slips his fingers along Frodo’s cheek, and Frodo leans into the warmth and the softness of Fíli’s skin, intoxicated already—he’s never had a dwarf before. He knows from observing Bilbo how exhilarating it must be. When he said he wanted to come to Erebor for new experiences, he didn’t just mean studies, and he can hardly believe his luck that his first offer for real _fun_ is from his new home’s princes, and two of the most gorgeous creatures in the whole mountain, on top of it. It could just be his hobbit roots—they’re smaller than most dwarves, almost hobbit sized, less hairy and rugged but still different and exotic—the perfect blend. The perfect introductory round. Fíli traces the pointed curve of Frodo’s ear and murmurs, “You’re cute.”

Frodo mumbles, “Thank you,” already feeling breathless. Kíli’s hand lands on Frodo’s thigh, drags up and down again, and Frodo stifles a little gasp. 

“Have you been kissed before?” Kíli asks, and Frodo almost admits far more than he should. Memories flash though him, fumbling about with Merry behind the Green Dragon and meeting Pippin for quick, curious touches in the field. He doesn’t answer, just leans forward, lips slightly parted and _wanting_. 

Kíli kisses him first, though his face is still in Fíli’s hand, and it’s everything he hoped but maybe a little different—he can _smell_ Kíli’s musk, and Kíli’s stubble scratches his chin, Kíli’s nose bigger and digging into his cheek. But Kíli’s lips are still soft, a little wet, and Kíli’s tongue traces Frodo’s bottom lip just long enough for him to open. 

He’s turned before he can get a proper taste of Kíli’s tongue, because Fíli’s kissing him next, a little sweeter with a longer, more downy beard but the press of tight braids. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he just grips at the shelf behind him, but he wants to tangle his fingers in their hair. When Fíli pulls back, Frodo makes a keening noise, and Fíli asks, “Do you want a proper Dwarven welcome?”

Frodo half-whines, “Yes, please.” He means to end it there, but somehow he winds up thrusting his hips forward, into the press of Kíli’s hand. They close in on him at once, bodies pinning him to the bookcase with their feet wedging between his, careful with their big boots. They both kiss him, on either side of his mouth, but Kíli moves squarely over him and Fíli turns to nip at his jaw, and when Frodo stops to _moan_ , it’s Fíli’s tongue that slides into his mouth, and Kíli licks at the jut of his neck. 

They make quick work of him, kissing him over and over, switching periodically and covering everything between his forehead and shoulders in thick, searching pecks, lingering swipes of tongue and the occasional scrape of teeth. Their hands have no shame, and he shows them no boundaries. By the time they work at the buttons of his shirt, he’s overwhelmed, and he has to lift his arms to hold onto them. He threads one hand in Fíli’s golden hair, one in Kíli’s dark locks, and they kiss him all the harder while they reveal his chest and slide greedy palms across his skin. 

They play with his chest as much as his mouth. They pluck at his nipples, make him squirm and arch into them. It isn’t until one of them—he can’t tell who anymore—cups him between his legs that he gasps, and he pulls away from their mouths to murmur, “Oh... but I need to warn you...”

“What?” Fíli asks, and Frodo realizes that it’s Kíli kneading him gently, and he should discover now what Frodo feels compelled to admit. 

He mumbles, “That I’m different,” anyway. Kíli’s hand moves to his inner thigh, and Fíli’s replaces it, giving Frodo a little squeeze that makes him buck up and moan. 

Kíli just asks, playful and oblivious, “Different than what?”

Frodo’s already flushed, and he probably can’t blush any harder. He can’t help but wonder if dwarves are really so unlike hobbits that they wouldn’t think him afflicted. Half the reason he moved to Hobbiton in the first place was for a fresh start, to hide certain things and grateful to not always have to _explain_ , and then Erebor came and he hasn’t even mentioned that. Bilbo said it would be alright, but Bilbo’s always good to him. 

Frodo doesn’t know what to answer. He has a speech ready that he gives every time, but that’s just for probing questions, and this is probing _hands_ and _mouths_ that have him dizzy. So he doesn’t say anything, just looks down, and Kíli unfastens the tie on his trousers, pulling them right open. 

Fíli takes his hips, and he’s slid down the bookshelf, until he’s sitting in Fíli’s lap with his legs spread over Fíli’s strong thighs, his trousers open and Fíli’s thick fingers massaging his pussy. Kíli’s still looking down at him, hands now in his hair, and he leans into them and keens, one hand on Kíli’s leg and the other on Fíli’s shoulder. Fíli digs his palm against Frodo’s moist slit, then runs one fat finger between his folds and asks, husky, “Would you like to ride the crown prince of Erebor?”

Frodo whimpers a hoarse, “ _Yes, please_.” In this moment, he’d like nothing better. He’s suddenly glad that Bilbo’s kept him taking all his herbs. Then Kíli’s thumb brushes the sensitive tip of Frodo’s ear, and he moans, “But what about Kíli?”

Fíli grins up at his brother, who’s now rubbing himself through his trousers, and the sheer size of the bulge there makes Frodo’s mouth water. He can’t help but lick his lips, and Kíli purrs, “I rather like the look of your mouth, actually.”

Usually, Frodo puts that off, unless he’s already halfway there and in the mood, or when Merry would bargain him a massage for it, or Pippin would eat him out in return. He gets the feeling these two would give him either, but he’s too aroused to need it; he looks at Kíli and he _wants_ to taste a dwarf cock, wants to taste _Kíli_. He tries to lean over, but he’s distracted halfway there by Fíli opening his trousers to pull out his cock. 

It draws Frodo’s eye immediately: longer than Frodo’s used to and much, much thicker, pink-brow and lined with veins. It seems to throb in Fíli’s hand, and Frodo makes a helpless mewling sound—he’s never wanted to be impaled on something so badly. “We were looking forward to another hobbit coming to Erebor,” Kíli muses while Frodo eyes Fíli’s prize. 

Fíli’s the one to finish, “But you exceed all our expectations.”

Frodo wants to buck into it right away. He clenches his knees at Fíli’s sides and wants to slide forward, but Fíli puts a hand on his stomach between the hanging-open folds of his shirt, smiling and stilling him. Fíli shifts himself only close enough to rub the veiled head of his cock along Frodo’s leaking pussy, up and down in torturously slow strokes. “Eager, aren’t you,” he murmurs at the tremor in Frodo’s hips. “But how tight are you, I wonder? Do you think you can take this...?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Frodo insists, though he’d probably say the same thing even if he didn’t think so at all. He’s usually opened with fingers first, but he’s never had a problem, not when he’s so aroused already, and he’s sure he’s wetter than he’s ever been. He squeezes his channel, trying to flex it open in preparation, and it earns him a smirk and Fíli’s hands on his hips. Fíli picks him up and pulls him in so their stomachs brush together—Frodo’s hands fly around Fíli’s shoulders to hold on. Then he can feel the blunt tip pressing at his folds, and Fíli shoves him down, just enough for the head to pop inside. 

Frodo cries out instantly, even though it’s just a small bit—it’s so _wide_ and warm and hard. They make no effort to quiet him, and Fíli holds him still, while Frodo squirms and clenches and then starts to rock forward, wanting _more_. Fíli obliges, moving him down bit by little bit, carefully sliding, stretching Frodo open, and there’s one quick flash of pain but nothing after that; Frodo just can’t stop himself from clenching and fluttering open. His hips tremble in Fíli’s hand, and he ducks forward to kiss Fíli’s mouth, raw and harried. Fíli only releases his grip when they’re all the way together, Frodo nestled right against Fíli’s thighs with everything inside him. He rocks against Fíli’s chest just to _feel_ it. He writhes, playing with the angle, and then he breaks the kiss and begs, “F-Fíli... _please_...” even though he doesn’t know what for. 

Fíli seems to know. He kisses Frodo’s forehead, and he tosses one thick arm around Frodo’s waist, and he bucks his hips up to slam into Frodo’s pussy. Frodo was already stuffed, but it jostles him, tosses him up a few centimeters. He throws one hand back to grip the bookshelf, while Fíli does it again and again, making Frodo bounce up and down in his lap. It’s a lewd movement, filled with slapping sounds and the squelch of Frodo’s juices around Fíli’s cock, but everywhere Fíli rubs inside him feels _good_ , and Frodo’s so in love with being _full_. For the first few thrusts, he’s just a toy, riding Fíli’s powerful hips, but when he gets the wherewithal to _move_ , he nuzzles into Fíli’s face and wriggles his body and sucks at Fíli’s big cock, until fingers fist in his hair and he’s turned aside.

He’s reminded instantly of Kíli, who stands with his cock already out and level with Frodo’s face, so close he doesn’t know how he missed it before. It points right at him, the little hole in the tip sporting a single bead of precum. Frodo looks up through his lashes at Kíli’s handsome face, and Kíli doesn’t have to say a word. Frodo tightens his grip on Fíli’s shoulder and leans to the side, opening wide to drag his tongue up Kíli’s tip. Kíli shudders, and Frodo sucks the milky drop back into his mouth, savouring his first taste of _dwarf_. It’s a little salty, mostly bland, not that different from a hobbit’s but perfect for _this_ , where he’s so ready it may as well be sugar to him. He licks Kíli’s cock again, then drags his tongue up the side, and Kíli thrusts further forward so that the shaft slaps Frodo’s cheek. 

He doesn’t have the luxury of worshiping Kíli’s cock the way he’d like to; Fíli’s fucking him too hard, and he’s too heady to last that long. He gives Kíli one last lick, then opens his jaw as wide as he can and slips Kíli onto his tongue, back into his mouth. He has to stop when it hits the back of his throat, and he gags once, throwing up a hand to wrap around the base and hold it still—he can’t deep-throat at this angle with Fíli fucking him about. Kíli doesn’t at all seem to mind. He threads his fingers in Frodo’s hair and pulls back, only to slam forward again, which Frodo takes to his knuckles with cheeks bulging for it. 

They fuck him in tandem. Frodo hardly has to do any work, though his body does what it can, his hips shaking and trying to drive himself further onto Fíli’s cock and his mouth straining to take everything it can. It surprises him when Fíli nips at his face, only because it’s so close to his brother’s cock, but he sticks to sweet places like Frodo’s cheek and temple, nuzzling against him and tickling him with more facial hair than he’s used to. Their chests grind together, Frodo’s bare skin against the coarse fabric of Fíli’s tunic, and Fíli explores his body with searching hands while Kíli plays with his hair. Their fucking is loud, messy and vigorous, so _passionate_ for sex with strangers, and every bit as thrilling as Frodo hoped. He understands now why Bilbo couldn’t leave, and he doubts he could either, because if this is just the welcoming party, Frodo wants _all_ the rest.

Kíli’s the first to come, which pleases Frodo immensely, because it means his mouth isn’t as out of practice as he thought. He sucks Kíli hard, and he feels Kíli’s cock twitch atop his tongue before it spills down into the back of his throat. Frodo splutters but only pulls off to the head, keeping his lips locked around it and trying to hold Kíli at bay while Kíli bucks into his face, roaring in bliss. It trickles hotly into him, and he just sucks at it more, eager to swallow as much as he can. 

Kíli’s barely slipped out of Frodo’s mouth when it’s too much, and Frodo comes with a sudden cry—he was so on edge the whole time he didn’t see it coming, and it seizes him harder than any orgasm he’s ever had. His mind blanks completely, vision blurring; he can feel himself clenching wildly around Fíli and spilling more juices, his thighs trembling. Fíli covers his mouth to kiss away his scream, while Kíli slumps down beside them and nuzzles into Frodo’s neck. 

Frodo’s still spinning when Fíli finishes inside him, burying another cry in Frodo’s lips. He kisses Frodo right through, while he fucks out his release, filling Frodo up with a rush of hot seed, as thick as the stuff he took down his throat. It makes him squirm and whine. Fíli milks himself out in Frodo’s body, then presses his forehead to Frodo’s and pants, smelling of the sweat Frodo can feel beaded across his body. 

“Welcome to Erebor,” Kíli mumbles, and Frodo would laugh but finds his throat too hoarse. He needs a moment just to breathe. It seems like they all do. It isn’t until Fíli pulls out of his dripping pussy that he realizes he’s the most disheveled, and all they have to do to clean up is shove themselves back into his trousers. 

His arms are too heavy to bother moving. He leaves his shirt and trousers open, his legs pried open across Fíli’s lap, and they keep looking at him, clearly enjoying the view. It makes him less nervous when he finally manages, “Can we do this again?”

He thinks he knows the answer, but he still listens when Fíli opens his mouth, only to have Kíli interrupt with a loud, “Hi, Ori.”

Frodo whips his head around, to find Ori, a scribe that works with Balin, standing at the end of the isle with wide eyes and an open mouth. Ori squeaks, “Sorry!” and runs off in a hurry before Frodo’s even finished blushing.

He’s embarrassed, naturally, but Kíli only laughs, and Fíli says, “Don’t worry about it; we’ve caught him here, too.” Frodo covers his face and groans.

But all in all, he’s certain he’s going to like staying in Erebor. Fíli and Kíli languidly staying with him in the afterglow confirms that. They start asking him little things, making conversation and answering all his in turn, and after about an hour, Kíli kisses him again and asks, “What book did you come to get?”

So Frodo admits, “I don’t remember and I don’t care,” and he pulls Kíli to him for another, Fíli right behind.


End file.
